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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470401">I'll show you in spring it's a treacherous thing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26'>Lacerta26</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Thick of It (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adam Kenyon/OFC, Arguing, Bisexual Male Character, Breaking Up &amp; Making Up, Developing Relationship, Elections, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:22:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Election night 2015 and things are about to go from bad to worse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam Kenyon/Fergus Williams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'll show you in spring it's a treacherous thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know we all know that Fergus would lose the election in 2015 but what if, and go with me on this, he didn't. </p><p>It is possible I do not know enough about politics to get away with having written this but here it is anyway, please forgive any inaccuracies. </p><p>Title from The Lovecats by The Cure.</p><p>Thank you for reading! ^_^</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>May 2015</b>
</p><p>An evening in North Walsham sports centre is not Adam's idea of a good time. North Norfolk generally has become a bit of a thorn in his side, despite the charm of its coastline, since Fergus first got elected but at least after tonight they’ll never have to come here again. </p><p>Because Fergus <em> is </em> going to lose. </p><p>They tried their best but as Adam watches Jeremy Vine titting about in a CGI hellscape of the British Isles turning blue one constituency after another on the TV in the foyer he knows with utmost certainty that Fergus is going to lose. </p><p>They’ve not actually talked about it, not really, about what happens next, although Adam’s seen the emails in Fergus’s inbox from various think tanks and lobby groups and he’s got plenty of feelers out himself to wangle his way into Labour when this all goes tits up for the Lib Dems. It’s not like they don’t have options there’s just something deeply unnerving about the idea that they won’t be working together for much longer once tonight is done with. </p><p>Too much of Adam’s life for the last five years has involved basically thinking Fergus's thoughts for him. He’s not sure he wants to start thinking thoughts for some other MP. Not that his long cultivated understanding of Fergus’s whims can help Adam locate him among the people milling about, once he goes back into the hall, and the returning officer is looking serious by the little temporary stage that’s been erected in the corner between the netball hoops so it’s probably time to accept their fate. </p><p>Jane, stalwart Lib Dem councillor and one of Adam’s favourite people, who has already taken it upon herself to forgive Fergus for every coalition fuck up whether he had anything to do with it or not, raises her eyebrows at Adam and tilts her head towards the fire exit.</p><p>Fergus is outside by the bins looking sorry for himself and smoking. Adam watches him fondly for a beat. Fergus has never quite mastered the art of looking cool while doing anything and when he smokes he always looks like he’s afraid he’s about to be caught by his mum and given a bollocking. Normally Adam would give him that bollocking, it’s never a good look for an MP to be caught skulking about with a fag on, but tonight he could rather do with one himself, glasshouses and all that. </p><p>‘Here,’ Fergus hands Adam the cigarette, only half smoked, but there are a few suspicious butts on the floor at his feet. </p><p>‘It’s nearly time,’ Adam says as he takes up his spot by Fergus’s side, leaning against the rough wall of the building, taking a drag and letting the world reduce to nothing but the rush of nicotine and the feel of Fergus, warm beside him. </p><p>‘Christ,’ Fergus rubs at his temples, ‘what are our chances?’ </p><p>He’s asked that very same question every day since they started their reelection campaign and Adam never quite knows what answer to give him. At this point it might as well be the truth.</p><p>‘The exit polls aren’t as bad as they might be. When you lose it won’t be by much,’ Adam’s not sure when he started saying when instead of if, ‘the vote’s pretty split between you and that Tory fucker. Apparently people really didn’t like that he shagged the au pair.’</p><p>‘But he’s still going to win?’</p><p>‘Yeah. He’s still going to win. Labour might do alright, we’ll lose some voters there. UKIP’s always the wild card.’</p><p>‘And generally? The Party?’ </p><p>‘Totally fucked. Worst defeat since ‘88.’</p><p>‘Thank you,’ says Fergus, with a scary sort of sincerity that Adam absolutely doesn’t have the stomach to handle right now, ‘for sticking this out with me.’</p><p>‘You don’t need to thank me. You should thank them in there.’ </p><p>They’ve had a good team of locals determined not to let the Tories get a foothold and Adam’s insistence that Fergus spend every available weekend eating fish and chips in a different seaside town up and down the coast seems to have done something for his reputation. That Fergus’s family are local helps too but it can’t possibly have been enough. Even with the scandal from the Tory the Lib Dems are screwed and Fergus’s heart hasn’t been in it, not really. </p><p>All five years of the coalition have led them to here and, although Adam hates the thought of losing, when this is over he’s going to grab Fergus by the lapels and drag him off to the nearest room with a door that locks because they’ve been dancing around the undeniable tension between them for far too long and it’s about time someone did something about it. The way Fergus has been looking at him lately makes Adam think he might have similar plans but Fergus’s plans for Adam began to coalesce sometime around their graduation from uni and he’s never done anything about it before now. Adam knows that if it happens it’ll have to be him that takes the first step. </p><p>Adam holds the cigarette out to Fergus but he shakes his head just as Jane comes out through the fire exit and frowns. Maybe they’re both going to get a bollocking for smoking. </p><p>Instead she just smiles at them a bit sadly and says, ‘come on boys, it’s time.’ </p><p>Adam grinds out the cigarette under his shoe with more force than strictly necessary and Fergus shrugs himself off the wall like a man headed to the gallows. It’s a strange contradiction for the both of them; neither of them want to lose but they don’t really want to win either.</p><p>Before they go back inside Fergus submits himself to Adam straightening his tie, checking his teeth and Adam lets his hands linger a moment too long on Fergus’s shoulders. For a vertigo inducing second he thinks that he might be about to sack in his carefully calculated plan and just kiss him right here in a North Norfolk car park but Fergus is ducking his head, shifting out from underneath Adam’s hands and the moment’s gone. </p><p>Back inside Fergus stands on the stage looking like he wants to be sick and Adam probably looks just as bad given that Jane puts a comforting hand on his arm. He usually tries very hard never to look like he needs coddling from women old enough to be his mother and her concern almost makes him want to cry.  </p><p>The returning officer chivvies the candidates into a line behind her, like they’re a bunch of school children, before she steps up to the microphone. </p><p>‘Good evening, all. Thank you for your patience, I am able to make a declaration,’ she looks around the room with steely authority before continuing. </p><p>‘I, Angela Coburn, being the active returning officer at the election of the member of parliament for the North Norfolk constituency do hereby give notice that the number of votes recorded for each candidate at this election is as follows. Scrivens, Gemma, Green Party, 2,807 votes. Macey, Roddy Bernard, United Kingdom Independence Party, 9,379 votes. Ainsworth, Julie Marie, The Labour Party, 6,694 votes. Williams, Fergus David, Liberal Democrat, 15,374 votes…’</p><p>Fergus looks up sharply from where he’d been staring at his feet, an utterly bewildered look on his face, a sort of caught in the headlights panic and Adam can’t believe it. The room suddenly sways around him and Jane’s grip on his arm tightens. He’s furiously trying to do impossible maths in his head and Fergus looks like he might be about to faint. The conservative enclave in the corner are suddenly looking less sure of themselves. There can only be a couple of hundred votes in it and Fergus might just have done the impossible. </p><p>‘...Thwaite, Alan Arthur, The Conservative Party, 15,160 votes.’ </p><p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p><p>The returning officer begins to drone on about rejected ballots but Adam can’t take it in. He wrote a speech for if Fergus managed to win, not his best work given he’d never thought they’d need to use it, and from the awful green tinge on his face he’s not sure Fergus’ll be able to get through it in any case. </p><p>‘I do hereby declare that Fergus David Williams is duly elected as member of parliament for North Norfolk,’ says the returning officer and there’s scattered, confused applause around the room which just about sums up how Adam feels. </p><p>‘214 votes in it, Adam,’ says Jane quietly by his side, ‘he’s one of six so far to keep their seats.’ </p><p>
  <em> Fuck.  </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>There’s a strange sort of high pitched whine in Fergus’s ears the entire time he’s saying his speech and shaking hands with the other candidates. He needs to speak to Adam. </p><p>He scans the crowd frantically as he steps off the stage but Adam is not in his immediate vicinity providing the usual scaffolding he needs to stay upright. Jane is there, swooping in to hug him and lead him to the other end of the hall, where Adam is looking frantic but familiar, and Fergus stumbles after her. Halfway across the room to safety the reporter from Look East is shoving a microphone in his face and he hopes by some miracle that what comes out of his mouth sounds coherent before he’s shrugging them off. </p><p>‘How the fuck did this happen?’ is the first thing out of Fergus’s mouth because despite the fact that all eyes are on him and they’re all hanging on his every word the only person in this room that might have answers, the only person that matters is Adam. </p><p>Adam shakes his head, looking grimly, falsely cheerful. His phone is vibrating threateningly in his hand and he looks at in the way one might a hand grenade as he steers Fergus towards the back exit, murmuring at him in a low, furious sort of voice, ‘<em>smile </em>for fuck’s sake.’ </p><p>‘How did this happen?’ Fergus says again because he needs to know which fucking deity has given him the last thing he wanted. Five years ago this was the best fucking feeling in the world, hugging Adam in the same sports centre, feeling like they could conquer anything. Now it feels like the one thing he wanted, the one thing he thought he might be allowed to have if he lost, is out of reach all over again. </p><p>‘We thought Labour might do better, take more of our vote share. We need to get to Norwich, the BBC want to do an interview with you tomorrow morning.’</p><p>‘Norwich…?’</p><p>‘It’s only local crews here. No one thought this would happen. Fergus. Fergus? </p><p>Fergus has stopped in the middle of the car park staring at the keys in Adam’s hand, ‘we got the train here.’</p><p>‘Jane’s lending us her car. She’ll collect it in Norwich tomorrow. We’ll prep on the drive. Stay in Norwich overnight, interview in the morning, then train to Westminster.’ </p><p>‘Right, ok,’ Fergus nods although he’s not certain he’s taken much of it in.</p><p>‘I’ve told your mum not to expect us.’ </p><p>Adam’s doing that thing where he talks in short sentences with no conjunctions which means he’s thinking rapidly, several steps ahead of Fergus as usual. It does help Fergus feel slightly calmer, like only one of them can be having a breakdown at any given time, and once they’re inside the car, side by side, he waits for Adam to tell him how they’re going to fix this.</p><p>They don’t drive off straightaway and Fergus finds himself looking down at the <em> Frozen </em> backpack he’d had to move off the front seat to sit down. Jane’s granddaughters must have been in the car recently and now he’s clutching at the shiny blue plastic like it's a lifeline even though Elsa doesn’t have the answers anymore than he does. It’s ridiculous, <em> he’s </em>ridiculous and he feels the panic start to rise again before Adam touches the back of his wrist, a brief brush of his fingers that draws Fergus back to the present moment.</p><p>‘There’ll be a leadership contest, no way Michael will stay on even if he’s kept his seat. He’ll have resigned by tomorrow,’ says Adam as he puts the car into gear.</p><p>‘Do you think I…’</p><p>‘God no,’ Adam laughs even though it’s not funny, ‘sorry, no. But it’ll be a frontbench position, Ferg. We’ll see what we can get you.’ </p><p>Adam puts his hand on the back of Fergus’s seat as he reverses out of the parking space one handed. Fergus always used to like watching him do that, showing off, but he can’t even bring himself to enjoy it now. The drive to Norwich is only thirty minutes but it feels like less and also interminably more. The roads are clear this early in the morning and dark; Adam talks the whole way, gripping the steering wheel far too hard and doesn’t seem to notice that Fergus only responds in monosyllables. </p><p>Fergus hadn’t even wanted to win, he had wanted to lose and take hold of Adam and finally see what it would be like to kiss him.</p><p>*</p><p>The Premier Inn in Norwich is decent enough except Adam knows he’s not going to get any sleep tonight. It’s late, well, very early, there are still more constituencies to declare and the end is obvious to anyone with a brain but he should still stay up to finish watching the results come in. </p><p>His phone won’t stop vibrating at him; he needs to make sure Fergus will be ok and he needs to decide what he wants to do from here. Special advisor to an MP from a party with less than ten seats is not what his career aspirations were when Fergus first asked if he wanted to leave the Mail and help run his campaign but five years stuck at DoSAC and a public inquiry weren’t quite on his list either. Now he has an inbox full of other offers and no idea what to do about any of it.</p><p>Outside his hotel room Fergus tilts his head, ‘d’you want to come in? Toast my success?’</p><p>It doesn’t sound like he particularly considers it a success any more than Adam does.</p><p>‘I shouldn’t. I have work to do and you should get some sleep.’</p><p>Being invited into Fergus's room would have been the ideal outcome of today if you’d asked Adam about it yesterday morning but now all the reasons they haven’t ever taken that step are more relevant than ever. </p><p>Fergus smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, ‘I know for a fact you’re just going to stay up watching the last of the results and writing the answers for my interview. You might as well join me, that’s all I’m going to do. We can have a drink, plan for tomorrow.'</p><p>‘We’ll be on a train for two and a half hours tomorrow we can plan then,’ the last thing Adam needs is Fergus morose and tipsy and looking to him for answers. There’s only one answer he can give and it's for a different question, one that Fergus has never dared to ask him, not in sixteen years.</p><p>‘Someone has to stop me from eating all the crisps in the minibar,’ says Fergus and Adam relents because if it’s Fergus asking he always will. </p><p>‘Alright, one drink, if it’ll make you shut up.’</p><p>This time Fergus’s smile is genuine and Adam hates how much he needs it. </p><p>In the room Fergus turns the TV to BBC News 24 then immediately mutes it; sports centres and town halls across the country, full of public spirited tossers counting votes and ruining lives. In a general sense as well as a personal one; Adam’s worked with the Tories long enough to know what they’ll be like with a majority to jerk off with. </p><p>Fergus is watching him rather than the TV as Adam toes off his shoes and takes off his jacket. When he starts to unknot his tie he feels like he’s stuck in the worlds least erotic strip tease and stops without taking it off. Instead, he sits down on the one chair and stares dully at the television as the scrolling ticker tape declares the conservative candidate the winner in Cheadle, another loss for the Lib Dems. </p><p>He’s not really taking any of it in and when Adam glances over to Fergus, still watching him and frowning, it’s clear they’re both somewhere else, ‘where’s this drink then?’ </p><p>Fergus startles, apparently only just remembering why Adam is in his hotel room, and gets up to explore the pitiful state of the minibar. There’s only one glass in the bathroom, so Adam finds himself being handed a mug of vodka as Fergus clinks his gin filled one against it.</p><p>‘Congratulations,’ Adam dutifully intones.</p><p>‘Fuck off,’ at least Fergus manages a smile this time, like he’s got used to the idea, there’s less nervous energy about him now only weariness as he sits down on the edge of the bed, stretching out his legs towards Adam. One of his socks has a hole in it.</p><p>There’s nothing new about this, sitting up late in a hotel room or Fergus’s house, going over policy or nailing down the line for an interview. There have been so many times Adam has wanted to reach out, to see if Fergus might close the distance between them, but he hasn’t and he can’t now, no matter what his plans had been when he woke up this morning.</p><p>They don’t talk about it but he’s known Fergus a long time; that nothing has ever happened between them is not for a lack of alignment between their interests. Fergus saw the revolving parade of boys and girls Adam used to entertain at uni and Adam remembers the posters on Fergus’s walls that had less to do with the quality of the music and more to do with the boys that made it. But they work together and Fergus is a public figure; the scrutiny he will face will only be more intense now he’s a survivor of the coalition, scrutiny neither of them could stand. Adam would bear it, for Fergus, but he knows Fergus hates the idea of having to come out publicly and Adam could never ask it of him; kissing Fergus, like he so wanted to earlier, taking him to bed, loving him, it isn’t worth it if it ruins their careers, if it follows them with fear. </p><p>Adam gets up, abandons his mug on the side table, ‘I really need to get some work done.’</p><p>Fergus is staring at the TV with a sort of glazed look and doesn’t respond, ‘and you should get some sleep.’</p><p>Fergus nods absently but as Adam starts to cross the room to get to the door Fergus grabs him by wrist and for the first time all evening something like conviction crosses his face as he holds on and doesn’t let go, ‘Adam.’</p><p>‘What? I really should…’</p><p>‘Just for now can we pretend I lost?’ </p><p><em> ‘Ferg </em>.’</p><p>Adam runs his hand over his face so he doesn’t have to look at him but he doesn’t shake Fergus off. They both know what this is and they both know it’s a terrible idea but when Fergus stands, puts himself in Adam’s personal space, Adam isn’t about to push him out of it. </p><p>‘Thank you,’ says Fergus again and Adam isn’t really sure what he’s being thanked for this time. </p><p>It’s the sincerity of it that Adam can’t deal with and in the end there’s nothing for it but to kiss him, one hand on his cheek, curling round his jaw, the other at his hip. Fergus makes a sound into Adam’s mouth that sort of sounds like dying and sags into him and of all the impossible things that have happened today this is the one that really takes him by surprise. Not Fergus kissing him, or wanting to, but that he’s dared to do it now when it really might ruin everything. </p><p>*</p><p>Adam tastes like vodka and behind it like the stale coffee they’d been drinking hours ago and Fergus can’t quite believe what he’s dared to do but he’s damned if he’s stopping now. He’s wanted to do this since he was 24 and doing his masters at UCL when Adam appeared on the periphery of his friend group, forever circling in and out, wild in a way that made Fergus nervous but exciting and always fascinated by what he had to say. </p><p>They’ve grown up in a lot of ways since then and Fergus was certain he’d made the right choice, never crossing the line from friendship into something more. He thought for too long that Adam was out of his league and then when he became an MP it was an impossibility for entirely different reasons. Sixteen years is a long time to deny yourself something you want but the problem was always the choice to have Adam in his life, not quite in the way he wanted, or to have Adam like this, stretched out in his bed, and lose everything else he’s ever worked for. Adam would say it doesn’t have to be that way, that the choice isn’t so harsh as all that but Fergus knows the press and the British public and he’s never had the stomach to be a poster boy or a scapegoat or a martyr.  </p><p>It would all have been so easy if he’d lost because kissing Adam now feels like an answer and the consequences of this and the consequences of winning the election can be problems for tomorrow as Adam sits down on the bed and Fergus goes with him. Maybe it would be easier if this were just a quick fuck, something frantic, to get it out of their systems but despite the anxiety and adreneline of earlier there’s a strange sense of calm that’s descended on them and Fergus has the terrifying thought that Adam might be about to make love to him. </p><p>They strip out of their clothes quickly, they’re on a clock, it’s already four in the morning and they have to be up again soon. It’s a race against real life and decisions made with such certainty only a few hours ago but Adam is looking at him softly, pulling him in, so Fergus lets himself be kissed and put on his back as Adam’s hands trace patterns on his skin. </p><p>Adam follows the path of his hands with his mouth, over Fergus’s chest, his belly, and Fergus watches as the flickering blue light of the TV throws the broad lines of Adam’s back into dark shadow and bright relief. Fergus skates a hand through Adam’s hair, vaguely directional, and Adam looks up at him, from where his mouth has found the skin of Fergus’s hip, and when they both speak it’s together. </p><p>‘I’ve got…in my bag.’</p><p>‘I can get…’ Adam laughs, presses his forehead against Fergus’s thigh, and it’s a little strained. </p><p>Fergus knows that the fact they had both planned for something like this is a reality neither of them can face so he just nudges Adam with his foot and says, ‘go on then.’ </p><p>Adam gets out of the bed to rummage in his bag, he looks ridiculous, naked, half hard, and Fergus has never wanted anyone more in his entire life, ‘come here, please.’</p><p>Adam does as he’s asked so easily, puts himself back in Fergus’s arms and kisses him, insistently, desperately. He hooks his leg over Fergus’s hip, throws the lube and a condom onto the bed, and it’s simple in the end to press against him with slick fingers and open Adam up to the point where he’s almost begging. Fergus would beg too if he thought it would make a difference. Instead he sinks inside, watching Adam’s face all the while, concentration and then bliss. </p><p>Watching Adam like this is astonishing, flushed and wanting, biting his lip to keep from making a sound but it’s not something Fergus gets to have, not really. Adam’s knees are up around Fergus’s hips and Fergus goes down on his elbows, his hands in Adam’s hair and mouth against open mouth as they begin to move together. Slowly at first and then faster as they find a rhythm and sink into it. Adam is stroking his own prick, hard against his stomach, in counterpoint to the movement of their hips but Fergus knocks his hand away, takes hold of him, because he wants to be the one to give Adam every second of this pleasure, in body if not in word. He would give anything to be able to keep hold of this moment of surrender, for both of them, but this can’t go beyond tonight and they both know it. Adam kisses him anyway, licks into his mouth, with such fervent, unabashed want, his grip hard on the back of Fergus’s neck and it’s enough to be able to pretend for now. </p><p>The end is building between them, an unrelenting tide, and Adam moves against him, his lips brushing Fergus’s cheek. He keeps gasping out consonants, an approximation of Fergus’s name, like he’s overwhelmed by it, like it might give too much away to say it aloud. They’re losing rhythm, together on a precipice, and Fergus closes his eyes and waits for it to end as Adam arches against him, swears under his breath and comes. In that moment of surrender, he finally, <em> finally, </em>says Fergus’s name, so sweetly, that Fergus can’t help but be lost as it tips him over the edge too. When he looks up there’s emotion he can’t parse behind Adam’s eyes and he turns away from it, buries his face in the sweaty juncture of Adam’s neck and his shoulder so he doesn’t have to see.</p><p>They catch their breath for a second and then Fergus pulls out, pulls back, rolls away to stare at the ceiling in blank shock, unable or unwilling to think of anything at all. Adam gets up then, out of the bed, and Fergus feels sinking, cold reality catch hold of him again but Adam only cleans himself up with the tissues from the bedside table, before throwing the box at Fergus. He finds the remote and turns off the TV, then the lights, climbing back into bed in the proper darkness of the room. </p><p>‘Adam…’ Fergus’s voice sounds rough and he has no idea what he’s about to say. </p><p>Next to him Adam sighs and shifts slightly so he can wrap his arms around Fergus and draw him in, back to chest, ‘try to get some sleep, Ferg.’</p><p>*</p><p>When Fergus wakes up an hour or so later, feeling like he hasn’t slept at all, Adam is already up and dressed, perhaps he never really went to sleep. Fergus’s fresh shirt, ironed now, is hanging on the wardrobe door and Adam glances up from his phone, looking as shit as Fergus feels. </p><p>‘You should shower,’ Adam’s voice is light but purposefully so and Fergus can feel himself cringe at the forced casualness, the affected lack of concern. </p><p>He leans up on his elbow, scrubbing his face, but Adam is looking at his phone again, not at Fergus, not at the bed where they fucked a few hours ago.  </p><p>‘What time is it?’</p><p>‘Just before seven. We need to be at the Forum by eight. Jane’s meeting us there. Shower. Now.’ </p><p>Adam doesn’t say anything else so Fergus does as he’s told.</p><p>In the shower he turns the water as hot as he can stand in the hope it might scald away some of his anxiety. He feels hungover although they never really finished that drink, running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline, but there isn’t time for worry or recriminations, they have a job to do. Fergus’s own phone is presumably full of messages and missed calls but he hasn’t dared to check, anything important will be redirected to Adam; Adam who runs his life and is apparently seriously regretting his night spent in Fergus’s bed. </p><p>Out of the shower Fergus puts on his clean shirt and yesterday’s suit. He feels somewhat self conscious getting dressed in front of him but Adam isn’t looking, still busy with his phone. There are a hundred practicalities to think about, so many questions that Adam presumably has the answers to but all Fergus wants is for Adam to look at him; instead he stands and straightens Fergus’s tie, without looking him in the eye.</p><p>‘Remember, the line is you’re so pleased the constituents in North Norfolk have stuck behind you and have looked to your record on local issues. That they have reelected you shows their trust in your ability to represent them.’</p><p>‘Right and not just because the other bloke was caught shagging the help.’</p><p>It’s only after the words are out of his mouth that Fergus sees the implications but Adam only gives him a withering look.</p><p>‘You express sadness that so many good colleagues have lost their seats. Don’t answer questions on leadership. Don’t accidentally throw your hat in the ring and for fuck’s sake try to look a bit pleased you’ve won.’</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>After a short grilling from Huw Edwards in which Fergus feels like he might as well keep his foot permanently inserted into his mouth Jane puts them on the train back to London.</p><p>Filtered through Adam it sounds like everyone in Westminster is running about with their arses on fire which means it’s probably about 25 percent worse than he’s making it seem. At least he’s looking Fergus in the eye again as the Norfolk countryside gives way to Suffolk and when they start to crawl through Manningtree Fergus reckons it’s time to be making plans.</p><p>‘Michael’s definitely resigning then?’</p><p>There are still the final few constituencies slow to declare but no one is holding out hope for them to gain any more seats or to not lose the ones they already had; eight MPs left after all that and Fergus among them. Any credibility Michael ever had is long gone now and it feels like a lifetime since he was engaging in intricate rituals with JB in the Rose Garden. </p><p>‘Yeah, he’ll probably do the announcement while we’re still on the train, the bastard,’ says Adam as if he’s genuinely annoyed to not have been consulted.  </p><p>‘Who’ll put themselves forward, do you reckon? Who do we <em> want </em> to put themselves forward?’</p><p>‘Daniel will or Rory. Amanda will try but no one’ll vote for her, she makes it too obvious half of them are just Tories in disguise.’ </p><p>‘Daniel’s alright isn’t he?’ Fergus can only remember speaking to him once, left-<em>ish </em> in a party of centrists and wet behind the ears in a way that made even Fergus feel cool. </p><p>Adam snorts a laugh, ‘yeah, just don’t mention that you’re…’</p><p>‘What?’</p><p>‘Nothing. Look, you’ve got more interviews to get to. Go over the talking points again, mention the local issues, that dustbin thing. Y’know the sort of bollocks, you’re keen to get on with the tireless work of government.’</p><p>‘But I’m not <em> in </em>government anymore.’</p><p>‘You’re still an MP. Don’t be a prick about it. At least you don’t have to work with Mannion anymore.’ </p><p>‘I can’t believe he kept his seat.’</p><p>‘He’s a relic. The old biddies in Hampshire would vote for him even if he started waving his cock about at the hustings.’ </p><p>‘Only action they ever get I’d imagine.’</p><p>Adam laughs again and it almost hurts how normal it feels. They’re sat opposite each other at a table seat in a nearly empty carriage and every time either of them moves their knees brush together. Adam doesn’t seem to have noticed. </p><p>‘I’ll make contact with Daniel’s lot, press the flesh and all that shit. The vote won’t be decided until July, plenty of time to make sure you’re in with the right people. Don’t worry about it.’</p><p>Fergus wishes it were that easy because by the time they get off the train at Liverpool Street the Lib Dems are less one leader and Fergus is back to barely restraining his panic.</p><p>*</p><p>It’s late when Fergus gets in. His house feels stale and cold even though he’s only been away a day or so. He hasn’t slept, not properly, since Wednesday, when he thought his future was so certain and a day sitting in insalubrious corners of Westminster telling journalists the same thing over and over has worn his patience down to nothing. </p><p>He hasn’t heard from Adam all day which wouldn’t normally be cause for concern, there are plenty of things Adam gets up to in his name he’d rather not know about, but he doesn’t even have an office at the moment so knowing the location of his Special Advisor seems vital to retaining a grip on his sanity. His ego keeps telling him in cruelly pleased tones that he should be happy about this and in some ways he is, now the thought has had time to settle, because miniscule majority aside, holding on to his seat was a fucking miracle even if it means giving up on something else. </p><p>Fergus moves about the kitchen almost on autopilot until he looks down at the cup of tea he’s made himself and reflexively pours it down the sink. He gets a glass out of the cupboard and grabs the nearest bottle of wine. It’s a good one, Adam had brought it round a few weeks ago and they never got round to drinking it, too good for Fergus to be wasting by drinking it alone. He considers the value of making yet another poor decision and reaches for the corkscrew.</p><p>He’s two ill-advised glasses in when he hears keys in the lock; Adam letting himself into the house, into Fergus’s space, his life. The front door slams and there are footsteps in the hall but the sound is no longer reassuring, no matter how familiar, and Fergus braces himself for a conversation he doesn’t want to have. There hasn’t been more than a handful of days in the last five years where they haven’t spent at least some time together; at work or after, in the pub, at Adam’s flat or here, in Fergus’s kitchen. Their lives are so entwined but something fundamental must have shifted between them after last night and Fergus isn’t sure how to begin or how to carry on from here. </p><p>When he gets to the kitchen Adam sits down heavily in the chair beside Fergus and pours himself a glass of the wine, giving it a sniff before he takes a swig. He looks exhausted.</p><p>‘Daniel’s the favourite. If it’s him or Rory that ends up on top you’ll get Spokesperson for Energy and Climate Change, no problem. Say, “thank you, Adam.”’</p><p>‘Thank you, Adam,’ Fergus doesn’t ask what sort of promises he’s had to make on Fergus’s behalf in order to wangle that. If it’s a pound of flesh that needs extracting Adam will make sure to defer it for as long as possible. </p><p>They sit in silence for a minute or two, Fergus picking reflexively at the label on the wine bottle. There’s an unpleasant tension in the room and Adam runs a hand over his face, squaring his shoulders like he’s preparing for battle and Fergus’s stomach does a nauseating swoop; of course Adam would be the one to have enough bottle to bring it up first.</p><p>‘Listen, Ferg -.’</p><p>Fergus can’t actually remember the last time he was broken up with and if it felt this awful then. It’s not like him and Adam are even a thing. One shag in a hotel room does not a relationship make and even though he knows it can’t go beyond that now, he finds he’d rather stay in the purgatory of the morning after where they won’t acknowledge what happened and so can’t yet have lost it. </p><p>When he dares glance up at him Adam looks terrified, like he doesn’t know how Fergus is going to react to what he has to say, and the nausea turns to dread. Agonising too long about how to have this particular conversation has left him on the back foot and now Fergus is struggling to catch up. What if Adam isn’t about to let him down gently, what if he’s about to declare all kinds of feelings Fergus desperately wants to reciprocate but can’t. Fergus isn’t sure how he'll ever be able to turn him down, send him away, exist knowing that what he wants is right in front of him, just out of reach.</p><p>‘Listen, I’m really sorry but I’ve been offered a job with Heather Campbell. She’ll be ShadCab, Ferg. I have to take it.’ </p><p>Fergus can’t take it in, he can’t possibly have heard correctly, ‘what?’  </p><p>There’s a desperate sort of unreality to the sweaty sheen of Adam’s skin in the bright lights of the kitchen and worse than Adam ending it, worse than Adam asking for something Fergus can’t give him is Adam not caring at all. He shouldn’t be surprised; Fergus only chose the Lib Dems in part because that’s where he had a chance of succeeding, Adam crossing the floor now makes sense and he’s always been better than Fergus at this, running the show from behind the curtain, pragmatic to the end. </p><p>‘Be honest. Neither of us thought you’d win. We’d both been making plans to move on and this is a step up for me, to be part of the Opposition proper.’</p><p>‘I was a Junior Minister!’ Fergus doesn’t mean to raise his voice but Adam has always had a knack of saying the things that make him quick to anger, he knows him too well and he isn’t afraid to be honest.  </p><p>‘But you’re not anymore.’ </p><p>Adam is right of course, he hadn’t expected to win and a majority of 214 is hardly a resounding victory but it’s too soon, Fergus has only just got used to the idea of reelection and to have to face that without Adam is unthinkable. He stands because he can’t sit still, turning away, and his reflection in the window above the sink looks sallow, ill and on edge. In the back of his mind the most likely outcome after he’d lost would have been Adam taking a SpAD position with another MP and Fergus finding a think tank or a lobby group and they’d...what, exactly? Be together? He never let himself think that far ahead because inaction is always safer, needing more time to think is an easy excuse to hold yourself back. </p><p>But looking at Adam now, grimly determined to leave all this behind, gives Fergus the courage he’s always running out of and he doesn’t hold back. If Adam is going to pretend that nothing happened between them Fergus is all too happy to remind him, ‘so you’re not going to say a thing about last night then?’ </p><p>‘What is there to say? It’s not going to happen again,’ Adam stands too, speaks with such finality, such certainty. It’s the truth but it’s not what Fergus wants to hear. </p><p>‘That’s not the point,’ Fergus puts his hands on his hips and Adam mirrors him. They’re always doing that, reflecting each other, every fault, every imperfection. </p><p>‘What is the point then, Ferg? You know I’d -’ Adam doesn’t finish his thought and even though Fergus is desperate to hear the end of that sentence he doesn’t push him. </p><p>‘You’re just going to walk away from everything we’ve worked for then?’</p><p>‘It’s not like that, this is my career!’ Adam steps towards him and Fergus isn’t sure if he’s about to be kissed or punched, or which would be worse. </p><p>‘What about me,’ Fergus <em> means </em>to say what about my career.</p><p>‘What about you, Fergus? What the fuck do you have to offer me?’</p><p>Fergus stares at him dumbly, Adam has his eyebrows raised, his hands still on his hips. His lips are stained red by the wine and Fergus wants so badly to kiss him. </p><p>‘Adam. Stay, please.’</p><p>‘As what? Your special advisor?’</p><p>Fergus doesn’t reply because he <em>can’t </em>and Adam is already so far away from him, arms folded, in a place Fergus can’t reach. Fergus feels sick with it because deep down he does want this, he didn’t want to win because he thought he wouldn’t but now he has he’s vindicated, and he’s a hypocrite, contradicting himself with every word because he wants Adam to stay, to help him hold on to the scrap of power he’s been inexplicably handed for another five years. He wants Adam to stay and to wait and to give him time to get it right but Adam’s been waiting for him for years and after last night if Fergus isn’t ready, when will he ever be? So he turns away again and waits for the front door to slam. It takes longer than he expects but it happens all the same and then he’s alone. </p><p>*</p><p>Outside the cold air hits him like a wall and Adam realises he’s left his jacket behind, thrown over the end of Fergus’s bannister, something he’s done hundreds of times before and now might not ever do again. He’s not going back for it. He can’t. </p><p>How dare Fergus behave as if this is Adam’s fault. He’s forty years old for fuck’s sake, it’s time they started acting like grown ups and there’s no point being in denial about any of it. Except Fergus has made a point to be in denial about his feelings since they first met and Adam accepted back then that as long as Fergus wanted him he’d stick around in the hope he might dare to do something about it one day. Not chastely, he’s not some kind of monk, likes a shag as much as the next bloke, but however unconsciously he’s never entertained the idea of something long term with anyone else. He’d always sort of assumed that it would be waiting for them and there were ready made excuses in journalism and politics that the life he had wasn’t made for relationships, for families.</p><p>They’ve reached a point, as they were always going to, where they have to make a choice. Fergus likes to act like his hands are tied but it’s always been simple for Adam; he’d throw it all away for Fergus if he asked and all Fergus can bear to ask him is to stay, not because Fergus <em> wants </em> him but because he needs him too much to let him leave.  </p><p>Adam lets his fury carry him to the high street and into a cab only for the cabbie to expect him to know where the fuck he wants to go. </p><p>‘Take me North of the river and find me a fucking bar.’</p><p>He doesn’t get an answer as the cabbie pulls away, which is probably wise because if anyone tries to make conversation with him right now they’re getting decked and Adam is crap in a fist fight. He slumps in his seat, fists clenched to stop himself shaking. He barely even registers what he’s seeing out the window, his eyes unfocused and head pounding. One thing he won’t do is let himself cry. </p><p>The driver drops him off by Borough Market, apparently so keen to get Adam out of his cab as quickly as possible he won’t even cross the river. Adam throws a bunch of tenners at him and throws himself into the nearest pub. There’s a blonde at the bar and he leans beside her with all the cocky self assurance he’s been cultivating since birth. Only Fergus ever makes him feel like he doesn’t need to bother with that shit. </p><p>‘Can I buy you a drink?’</p><p>‘Sure,’ she looks at him and smiles, it’s direct, no bullshit, they both know what this is with no need to explain it.</p><p>‘What do you do?’ </p><p>As chat up lines go it’s pretty poor but Adam’s fairly certain he’s onto a sure thing here as she laughs at him and says, ‘advertising, but you don’t really care about that.’</p><p>He grins at her, raises his glass against hers, ‘no, of course I fucking don’t.’</p><p>On the way to her flat in an Uber she puts his hand between her legs and kisses him hard, catches his bottom lip between her teeth. In the light from the streetlamp outside her bedroom her hair, spread out against the pillows in the dark, is the same colour as Fergus’s. As he moves inside her Adam thinks about anything but Fergus; Fergus fucking him in that hotel room, Fergus’s hand on his wrist, Fergus asking him to stay. </p><p>He touches her, slick fingers between her legs, her thighs up around his hips, and she comes, gasping, grip hard, fingernails biting into his shoulders. He closes his eyes, doesn’t think about Fergus, and follows her over. </p><p>Just before dawn he slips out of her flat and realises he never asked for her name. </p><p>*</p><p>He feels badly about all of it in the morning but Adam’s never been the sort of person to let regret follow him for long. He’d never have got anywhere in life if he’d worried too hard about being a <em> good </em> <em>person</em>. He does worry about Fergus who is liable to work himself up into a panic about any minor problem, and this is a fairly major one, but he’s had enough of holding Fergus’s hand through every crisis, he can’t help him through this too. </p><p>Their preternatural ability to be endlessly, confidently up themselves started to wane sometime around the Goolding Inquiry when the assumption that everything they wanted could be theirs by divine right began to seem less certain with every passing day. Adam had thought it might be time to set their sights on different goals but Fergus winning the election has changed everything and nothing at all. </p><p>They’ve seen it happen before, so many times, MPs forced to resign over perceived indiscretions even though people get together at work all the time. It’s the secrecy the press and the public don’t like, the idea that politicians are getting away with something, even if that something is a stab at happiness. Adam understands Fergus’s uncertainty but some small part of him had hoped they might be beyond that now. </p><p>So he swallows down all of the regret and the hurt and carries on because he’s perfectly capable of choosing the selfish option; there is nothing stopping Fergus having everything he wants except himself and Adam isn’t about to fall on his own sword to make him feel better about it. </p><p>It doesn’t stop him worrying, as days turn into weeks, turn into months, and it’s the longest they’ve ever gone without speaking but Adam survives and he climbs the ladder, makes himself indispensable, because if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s looking out for himself. He tells himself he doesn’t need to be happy. Almost believes it, too. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>August 2015</b>
</p><p>Fergus feels like a rat that wasn’t smart enough to get off a sinking ship and four months without Adam beside him every step of the way feels like drowning. His new advisor is fine, young and bright eyed, slightly overawed by Fergus in a way that makes him nervous and not yet driven to cynicism by the relentless passage of time. Adam was true to his word as well; after Daniel was elected party leader he gave Fergus the Energy and Climate Change brief. It’s work he wants to do, important work, and every second of it feels meaningless, now. </p><p>The summer recess is a chance to get away, or to get back, to his parent’s house in North Norfolk. His mum won’t stop fussing, she hasn’t mentioned Adam by name but she always liked him, fell for his charm, and everyone’s walking on eggshells like Fergus really has been left. Even his dad had shaken his hand when he arrived and said, ‘sorry, son,’ so it must be bad. </p><p>Nearly every day he walks down the hill to the harbour, stands at the Quay, watching the boats. It’s a perfect, mild August; warm sunshine and endless Norfolk skies which naturally means Wells-Next-The-Sea is rammed with tourists and Fergus can’t get a thought in edgeways amid the cries of schoolkids and the shouts of their parents. It’s probably for the best; all of his thoughts are of Adam and all of them hurt. He has to keep reminding himself that even though Adam walked out on him it was only because Fergus had shown him the door. </p><p>*</p><p>He’s started smoking again, skulking at the bottom of the garden in the low, golden sunlight each evening, and that’s where his mum comes to find him. He stubbs out the cigarette hastily but she’s already spotted him. It’s madness anyone would think he’s capable of being an MP when he’s still terrified of a telling off from his own mother.  </p><p>‘I wasn’t...’ he knows he’s blushing, not that it will show underneath the sunburn, pinkening his cheeks no matter how much suncream he slathers on, but his mum just laughs at him. </p><p>‘You’re not as subtle as you think you are, love.’ </p><p>She folds her arms and looks at him carefully. It’s a strange thing to watch his parents get older, it means he’s getting older too, even if under her stern, loving gaze he feels all of 14 years old. </p><p>‘You should call him you know,’ she says, her hands tracing through the lavender in the flower bed beside them. It throws the scent into the air, makes it denser and Fergus feels a little choked.</p><p>‘He’ll be busy,’ he manages. </p><p>‘He’d make time, for you, if you asked him,’ she says it so firmly, like it’s a given, a universal truth. </p><p>‘You don’t understand, mum. Me and Adam, it’s…’ </p><p>She holds up her hand to stop him, fond exasperation at his prevaricating, when they all know he came here to work up the courage, ‘all I know is you’ve never stopped going on about him, not since you first brought him home your last year of uni. This is my friend Adam you said and I could see already that you loved him.’</p><p>‘Mum…’ </p><p>Christ, he actually thinks he might be about to cry. Adam has been a certain, constant presence in his life for such a long time and wherever he thought they might end up apart like this is not what he wants. He can barely stand it. </p><p>She pats his arm gently, ‘you’re a grown up. Far too old for me to be telling you what to do but if he’s not here with you now because you weren’t brave enough to try and keep him…’ </p><p>‘We weren’t together, not, not like that. He just went and got another job, a better job, after the election. He’s a twat really, always has been.’ </p><p>‘Don’t be stupid, Fergus,’ she puts a hand to his face, the soft, cool touch against his cheek that makes everything feel like it might be alright, ‘and stop smoking.’ </p><p>*</p><p>He walks to the seafront in the last of the light; this time of year it feels like it never really gets dark, with the horizon in front of you like it’s the edge of the world, always turning towards the sun. </p><p>On a bench overlooking the East Fleet he gets out his phone and dials.</p><p>‘What?’ Adam answers almost immediately, his phone perpetually in his hand, but something about the fact that he didn’t hesitate to take the call makes Fergus hopeful. </p><p>‘Adam?’ </p><p>‘Yes. Who the fuck else would it be.’ </p><p>He sounds tired, on edge, and Fergus doesn’t know how to proceed. There’s noise in the background, voices; Adam in a bar, at a party, on the way to drunk and considering getting coked up is not the version of him Fergus wants to talk to but it’s too late now. </p><p>‘I’m at my mum’s…’</p><p>‘Is she ok? Your dad?’ </p><p>The concern in Adam’s voice is genuine and there’s a sudden muffling of the noise and a new sort of quiet on the other end of the line. </p><p>‘They’re fine, I’m fine. Where are you?’ </p><p>‘Nowhere. At a party, outside now. What do you want, Ferg?’</p><p>‘Would you come here? If you’ve got time off. I'd -, I’d like to see you,’ he says it quickly, afraid that if he doesn't get it out the words will die on his tongue.</p><p>‘I’m very busy.’</p><p>Fergus can hear the click of a lighter and Adam’s indrawn breath and smiles. They’re both as bad as each other, terrible habits and stunted emotions. </p><p>‘Please?’ </p><p>After a pause that's long enough for Fergus to feel the exasperation Adam says, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’</p><p>He knows that Adam will come, that Adam will drop everything to be here if he asks because his mum is right and Adam has been showing him, with actions if not words, how much Fergus means to him, for a long time. </p><p>*</p><p>Adam turns up two days later with an overnight bag and a bouquet of flowers for Fergus’s mum. </p><p>‘You’re disgusting you know, trying to ingratiate yourself like that,’ Fergus mutters in an undertone but Adam just smirks at him and it feels like no time has passed between them at all.</p><p>His mum kicks them out of the house after lunch, despite Adam’s insistence that he help with the washing up which is clearly just another blatant attempt to show Fergus up in any case, and the look she gives them is far too knowing for his liking. They don’t walk down to the water but into the fields behind the house. It’s dry and bright but Adam still looks out of place in his jeans and shirt, he’s never liked the countryside, has always been a city boy. </p><p>‘Your mum’s been looking after you then?’</p><p>‘I’m bloody sick of it, she’s treating me like I’m an invalid,’ Fergus swats at the grasses with a stick he’s picked up from somewhere. Adam always used to laugh at him, the few times they’ve been here together, that Fergus in the countryside turns into someone out of a Boy’s Own Adventure. </p><p>‘Stands to reason your life would go to shit without me.’</p><p>‘Fuck off,’ says Fergus. He chucks the stick, it doesn’t go very far, and they walk on in silence for a while.</p><p>‘How’s the Rt Honourable Heather Campbell MP?’ Fergus asks, he sounds bitter, he supposes he is. </p><p>Adam doesn’t reply straight away and when Fergus turns to him he finds that Adam has stopped at the edge of the field. </p><p>‘She’s fine. Why am I here, Ferg?’ </p><p>Adam is looking at him with one hand shading his eyes, squinting into the sun. He doesn’t look any different, Fergus had thought there might be some discernible change about him but four months isn’t actually that long. Fergus has been so busy he can’t believe how endless it felt not to have Adam by his side and when he looks at himself in the mirror all he can see is the anxiety of those few months alone.</p><p>‘I missed you.’ </p><p>‘That’s it?’ Adam drops his hand and turns away and Fergus looks at the back of his head, the close crop of his hair, maybe there’s more silver in it that the last time they saw each other.</p><p>‘That’s not enough?’ </p><p>He doesn’t know any other way to put it, to convey the depth of the misery he's felt at Adam's absence. </p><p>Adam breathes out sharply through his nose, ‘you can’t ask me to be the thing that ends up being a scandal…’</p><p>‘I wouldn’t,’ Fergus takes a step towards him but something holds him back. </p><p>‘...and I can’t ask you to come out if you don’t want to.’</p><p>‘I know that, Adam.’</p><p>Fergus needs Adam to look at him, he can't bear feeling this distance between them, stood barely two feet from each other, but when Adam does turn back to him he looks devastated and that's worse, ‘so where does that leave us?’  </p><p>‘If I’d lost…’</p><p>Adam laughs and it's almost cruel, ‘but you didn’t lose. Nothing’s changed.’</p><p>‘<em>I love you.</em>’</p><p>‘You’ve always loved me.’ </p><p>It should be callous except that it’s true and from the look on Adam’s face it’s like it hurts him to acknowledge it. Adam is calculating and selfish and ruthless and he's put every iota of that energy into looking after Fergus for longer than either of them would care to admit and Fergus hates him for it. No, he hates himself, for creating this impossible situation out of his own cowardice, for never having the balls to ask for what he really wants and for taking Adam for granted.</p><p>‘I’m sorry, I -.’</p><p>‘Don’t apologise for it, Fergus, <em> christ,' </em>Adam runs a hand over his eyes and when he looks up it's as if with a sudden realisation, 'I love you too, you fucking idiot. Did you not know that?’</p><p>Fergus knew that, he has always known it, but to hear Adam say it out loud, it makes everything very simple and when Adam kisses him softly, too hot against him in the dusty heat of the afternoon with insects buzzing around them, Fergus lets him.</p><p>*</p><p>His mum is in the kitchen, hovering rather blatantly when they get back. </p><p>‘Everything OK boys, all sorted?’ she says with practiced nonchalance. </p><p>‘Yes, Mrs Williams,’ Adam smiles and kisses her cheek on his way past and Fergus watches as she catches his hand and squeezes it with something like gratitude.</p><p>*</p><p>The bed in the spare room hasn’t been made which Adam considers a step too far on the part of Mrs Williams. He’s not an idiot, he knows Fergus only summoned him here on her orders and he’s grateful all the same but her assumption they’d only need the one bed might be a bit too much, it’s certainly too much for Fergus. </p><p>He’s fidgety, restless beside Adam on the sofa, and the fact he keeps stifling yawns is a dead giveaway; he wants to go to bed but he doesn’t want to take Adam with him in front of his parents. In the end Adam puts his hand casually on Fergus’s thigh and gives it a squeeze just to watch him go bright red and finally stammer out something about needing to call it a night. </p><p>*</p><p>‘When did your parents move here again?’</p><p>‘97, 98? When I was at uni, anyway,’ says Fergus watching as Adam pokes about in the knick knacks on top of the chest of drawers.</p><p>‘So we’re not about to shag in your childhood bedroom, then?’</p><p>‘No, pervert,’ through the sunburn Adam can see Fergus’s cheeks flush pinker. </p><p>‘Pity,’ Adam picks up the framed photo of Fergus at graduation. His hair was longer, almost to his shoulders, Adam had forgotten, and he looks so young. They were both idiots then, utterly self-possessed, certain of what they were owed by the world, certain they knew how to fix it. </p><p>Adam has never been so uncertain as when he got on the train to come here this morning. </p><p>‘Come here, please,’ says Fergus not quite petulantly but near enough.</p><p>Adam laughs, ‘yes, Minister.’</p><p>‘Fuck <em> off </em>.’ </p><p>Fergus is scowling at him but as soon as Adam makes it to the bed he’s being pulled down onto it with insistent hands and Fergus kisses him, touches him, like he’s afraid he might be seconds away from leaving, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise.</p><p>‘I know, I know,’ Adam murmurs against him, kissing along Fergus’s jaw, over cheek and eyelid.</p><p>‘We have to be quiet,’ says Fergus, his mouth at Adam’s shoulder and his hands at the small of Adam’s back.</p><p>Adam tangles their legs together, pulls Fergus closer. There’s no urgency this time and he moves against Fergus tenderly, gets him out of his clothes with practiced care. Once they’re both naked he slots them together again, one hand at Fergus’s hip, the other at the back of his neck and they rock together in an inelegant, perfect syncopation until Fergus is moaning in his ear, near enough to begging. </p><p>‘You bastard, touch me,’ says Fergus, in a rising whisper and Adam rolls them so Fergus is beneath him, flushed and pleased and desperate. </p><p>Fergus’s eyes are bright and clear, a smile behind them, as Adam takes them both in hand. They don’t speak, because there’s no need, and when Fergus arches against him and comes all over his belly it’s probably the best thing Adam has ever witnessed, enough for him to follow, gasping out his climax and sinking down into the safety of Fergus’s embrace. </p><p>Once they’re cleaned up and under the covers Adam pulls Fergus in but there’s a tension to him that Adam doesn’t like, after all that, the day they’ve had.</p><p>‘Adam…’</p><p>‘Go the fuck to sleep, Ferg. I’ll still be here in the morning,’</p><p>'You fucking better be,' Fergus mutters but he does relax into Adam's arms.</p><p>I'll be here tomorrow morning, Adam thinks as he drifts off, and if I can help it, every morning after that, too.  </p><p>*</p><p>Fergus drinks his morning coffee looking out of the kitchen window. His parents have gone to the garden centre, entirely unnecessarily but Fergus is grateful for time alone in the house with Adam. </p><p>He’s considering going and waking him up but just as the thought crosses his mind he hears footsteps on the stairs so he waits, back turned to the room, watching the birds darting about in the garden. Adam puts his arms around Fergus’s middle, his chin on Fergus’s shoulder. He should have known that when given licence Aadm would be all touchy-feely; he could barely keep his hands to himself when they weren’t...whatever they are now. Adam is warm, smelling like sleep and the fabric softener Fergus’s mum uses on the bed sheets; he smells like home. </p><p>‘When do you have to go back?’</p><p>Fergus doesn’t want to break the spell of it but he needs to know how long they have before real life intrudes again. He watched Adam ferreting around in his bag last night and he knows he only packed for a few days. It’s a delicate sense of balance as they step forward in this together and Adam has important things to get back to. Fergus doesn’t want to stop him but he couldn’t deal with missing him again so soon even if everything is different now. </p><p>Adam shrugs, ‘when do you?’</p><p>‘The House returns on September first, you know that.’ </p><p>‘September first, then,’ Adam kisses the back of his neck and goes to pour himself a coffee as Fergus watches him. </p><p>God, can it really be this easy? What had he been so worried about? </p><p>There will be the inevitable fallout, of course, the indignity of having to discuss his relationship with hacks desperate to print details of a scandal but they have nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of and if Adam carries on smiling at him, looking at home in his parent’s kitchen, Fergus knows he will be able to deal with all of it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>December 2019</b>
</p><p>‘You’re not seriously going to stay up and watch this all night are you?’</p><p>Fergus tilts his head back against the sofa to look at Adam, arms folded in the doorway, eyebrow raised derisively. It’s late but neither of them will be heading to bed anytime soon. </p><p>‘You’ve been checking the results on your phone all evening, don’t think I don’t know.’ </p><p>Adam drops his arms and looks abashed, ‘I sort of have to. You have no excuse.’</p><p>‘I am a politically engaged citizen,’ says Fergus, self importantly, and then, ‘I’m only going to stay up ‘til North Norfolk declares.’ </p><p>‘The Tories’ll sweep it.’</p><p>‘Yeah, I know,’ Fergus looks back over the sofa again and shrugs, ‘old habits.’ </p><p>Adam rolls his eyes but he comes over to sit beside Fergus on the sofa anyway. It’s company when they need it more than anything that Fergus cherishes about what they have; they were there for each other for a long time before they got together but now they don’t have to make excuses for it. </p><p>‘How’s the article coming along?’</p><p>‘Too soon to say,’ says Adam into Fergus’s hair, kissing his temple, warm and comfortable beside him. </p><p>‘It’ll be an all-nighter then?’</p><p>‘Yeah, for my sins.’ </p><p>‘At least you only have to write about it, not be in the thick of it, like these poor fucks,’ he nods towards the TV where a town hall somewhere has descended into chaos. </p><p>Adam got out of politics much more recently than Fergus; some days they miss it, other days they can’t quite believe it was their lives for so long. A week is a long time in politics, so they say, two and a half years out of it or twenty years getting to here, together on the sofa, feels like a lifetime and like no time at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on <a href="https://lacerta26.tumblr.com">tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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